Red & Black
by LJ9
Summary: One-shots originally posted to Tumblr and collected here. Rated T just to be on the safe side.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ladybug, Chat Noir, or any of their issues.

These were all previously published on Tumblr; in addition, some of them were things I submitted to my friend the-puddinator's blog, so you may have seen them there. I'm not taking credit here for anything I didn't write myself.

* * *

A contented sigh behind her made Ladybug pause before she bounded away. Over her shoulder she saw Chat Noir, a shaft of autumn sunlight gilding the edges of his suit and highlighting the gracefulness about him that she rarely had the opportunity to admire. With the feline fluidity of his namesake he reached both arms overhead, stretching languorously after their battle; his neck rolled easily from side to side, his back arched, and she imagined she could hear the quiet popping of his vertebrae. Though he faced away from her the relaxation in his stance was absolute, and a ripple of envy rolled through her. She still felt electrified from fighting and acutely aware of the state of her transformation, but fatigue and soreness were beginning to take hold of her, and she wondered if he felt it, too, or if all of his cares had already dissolved in the lingering afternoon warmth. Before she realized it she had turned fully, taken a step toward him, one hand extended; she caught herself, her eyes trained on her own hand as if it held the answer to a silently asked question. Then her attention was caught by the golden head before her tipping up to catch the sinking rays, and she knew without seeing it what a contented expression he wore, and the urge returned to her: to join him in the light, to run her fingers over his ears, across his shoulders, to stand with him one moment longer, to surrender to the peace radiating from him, to feel his purr vibrating beneath her hands. For too long she stood frozen in place, her thoughts a jumble of _Would it be so bad?_ and _But what about Adrien?_ , a nameless longing stuck in her throat and a heat in her face that could not be blamed on the sun.

Would it be so bad?

It took a quiet beep to break her trance and remind her that it was past time to be gone. She fled into lengthening shadows that could do nothing to dim the image in her memory.


	2. Dance

"May I have this dance, my lady?"

Marinette giggled and dipped a brief curtsey before daintily taking the hand offered to her. She began to hum a waltz tune as her partner took the lead in guiding their steps, gliding and spinning around the courtyard. Early spring sunlight filtered down onto them, the rays welcome after the bleak winter. She felt buoyant, and in her bliss squeezed the warm hand in hers, smiling brilliantly at the happiness reflected on the face opposite her.

"I can't wait for the ball, Alya! It's going to be so fun."

"And in your designs, we're sure to be the most stylish ladies there." Alya grinned, eyes sparkling as she gently pushed Marinette into a twirl, as if to showcase the fluttering skirt of an imaginary gown.

From the moment the school ball had been announced, Marinette's daydreams had been filled with images of Adrien: utterly debonair in a precisely-tailored suit, a rosebud in his lapel, ignoring every other girl in the room in order to ask her to dance. She and Alya had shared a look, her best friend smirking like she could see the images swirling through Marinette's head.

Alya had always been there for her. The day Adrien had walked into their classroom and Marinette had nearly choked on a mouthful of water Alya had been right beside her, pounding between her shoulder blades as she coughed and spluttered. Every time Chloé had insulted her, every time she'd forgotten to do homework because she was out battling akumas, every time she needed encouragement, Alya had been there. At the edge of Marinette's daydreams about Adrien lurked the certain knowledge that she would never be as graceful and sophisticated as she hoped to be around him, that she would bumble and bungle up any attempt to speak to him, let alone to dance with him; just as certainly she knew that when that happened her best friend would be waiting just behind, laughing kindly, ready with a cup of punch to drown Marinette's sorrows before they boogied until her blush faded and her smile returned. What would she do without Alya? That was not a daydream that bore lingering over, and one she'd already had a glimpse of. At the memory a shiver tingled up her spine and she stumbled slightly.

Alya's grip on her tightened, and her brows drew together at the sudden change. "Hey, are you oka—"

Heedless of the rhythm she surged forward, wrapping her arms around Alya's neck. "I'm so glad we're friends," she said, ignoring the brief wave of embarrassment that washed through her.

"You should be," Alya joked, patting her on the head. "I'm a ferocious enemy." Her dark chuckle wasn't at all reassuring, and Marinette held her tighter, eyes squeezed closed. When it became clear that her humor had gone unappreciated Alya returned the hug. "I'm glad, too," she said quietly, and only then did Marinette disentangle herself and take a step back.

Alya seized her friend's shoulders, and Marinette stood up straight for the pep talk she knew was coming. As usual, it was to the point: "We're going to have a good time, no matter what happens. Have I ever let you down?"

Marinette shook her head firmly. "Never."

"Of course not, so don't worry. Now, I have some ideas about your hair…"

* * *

On the balcony above Nino groaned. "Dude," he said, "they just announced this thing _today_. How long are we going to have to hear about it?"

"Aren't you going?" Adrien thought it sounded fun, though he wasn't sure if he was supposed to think that—it might not be cool. But it was nice to see how excited Alya and Marinette were. After class they'd burst into the courtyard and started dancing, waltzing with an easy, unexpected elegance across the sun-soaked square. The prospect of being a wallflower at the ball had filled him with trepidation; he got so restless and fidgety, and he never felt more awkward than when he couldn't _move_. Now it looked like all of those dance classes he'd had to take would come in handy. Even better, the scene below meant that he'd be able to dance with girls he actually felt comfortable around, and as their laughter floated upward he felt the tight ball of anxiety loosen, leaving a fizzing feeling of anticipation.

Besides, he hadn't missed the way Nino's eyes were just a bit too focused on the way Alya swayed. He'd be happy to dance with Marinette if it meant that Nino could spend some time with the girl he seemed to be developing a crush on.

"Of course we're going." He sounded none too happy about it, and Adrien bit down on his grin at the way his friend so effortlessly included him. Nino probably just didn't want to suffer alone, he told himself, but the idea didn't douse the warm feeling of acceptance. "But it's a month away! They'll all be going on about dresses and shoes and hair nonstop until then."

Schooling his expression into solemn innocence Adrien turned to face him. "You know you can talk about dresses with me if you want, right?"

The look leveled at him was just short of murderous. "Not you, too, dude," he lamented. "This is what I get for being friends with a model."

Adrien pursed his lips, tapping his chin with two fingers, and mused, "Then again, shoes are important, too. They can really make or break the whole outfit. And of course there are accessories to consider…"

Nino gave a wordless cry, threw up his hands, and stalked away.

"Wait!" Adrien called. "We haven't talked about a color scheme yet! Or hair!" And he laughed, golden and free, and chased after his friend.


	3. Cake

With a small flourish her father placed a platter onto the table in front of her and then kissed her cheek. Marinette smiled down at the cake. It was pale pink and decorated with a delicate spray of white blossoms wreathing an M. Her parents had made her the same cake every birthday for as long as she could remember; her 16th was no different.

"There'll be the chocolate you wanted for your party this weekend, of course…" Papa said.

"But it isn't a celebration without cake," Maman finished. She deftly sliced the cake and handed the first portion to Marinette, her face glowing with a proud smile. "Happy birthday, my darling," she said.

Before she took a bite Marinette slid from her seat to embrace her parents. "Thank you," she said, snug between her mother and father. It was safe there in their arms, warm and comfortable, and she closed her eyes to breathe in the scent of home, of yeast and Maman's perfume. To have parents who loved her so much was good fortune that surpassed even Ladybug luck.

* * *

Ladybug landed on the roof of the school with a little skip; the sound caught the attention of her partner, who turned, his lips quirked in his usual grin. "Good evening, my lady."

"Good evening, Chat." She joined him and looked out over the city; the moon hung nearly full overhead, and somewhere in the distance she heard music. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

Chat Noir bowed a little at the waist. "Even more so now that you're here."

Though she'd been expecting a flirty reply, it didn't stop the laughter that bubbled out of her. He never let her down. At the sound of her laugh his smile softened, grew more genuinely pleased as he turned to face her.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what's got you in such a good mood tonight?"

"I'm lucky, you know," she said, eyes on the streets below.

His voice was warm and light and so familiar. "That's good, as I think we've established that I'm not."

Her pigtails swished as she shook her head. "Not just as Ladybug, as me. I'm lucky to have this life. With my family, my friends…" She chanced a glance up at him. "My partner."

He looked taken aback—happily so, but nearly speechless all the same, his mouth hanging open. "I—"

"I have something for you." Her suit didn't have much in the way of pockets, but she'd long ago sewn up a little lightweight red knapsack that fit close to her back. Now she opened it and pulled out the box. Chat Noir was still agog; she giggled as she pushed the box into his hands, then tapped his chin. His mouth closed with a muted click.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he finally tore his eyes away and cleared his throat. Once the box was open he raised it to his nose, taking an approving sniff of its contents. "Cake?" he asked, one eyebrow arched. "What's the occasion?"

"It's…" She'd been looking forward to sharing her birthday with him. Recently she'd come to the somewhat uncomfortable realization that her days weren't complete unless she saw him. Her friends at school were wonderful, and Adrien was just as perfect and unattainable as ever, but none of them were quite like Chat. He was her partner, she'd said, pacing in her room while Tikki bobbed supportively nearby; he was important to her, and she did enjoy his company. It was natural to want to spend time with him, especially today. Right?

(She tried not to think about his laugh, or how adorable he looked when his face flushed at her teasing, or the way her heart stuttered when he winked at her. But she couldn't deny that no matter what odds they faced, she never felt more confident and secure than when he was beside her.)

It wouldn't be the end of the world if he knew when her birthday was, she decided. She trusted him with her life; she could trust him with that knowledge. So she'd snuck into the kitchen after her parents were asleep and cut him a slice of birthday cake.

And now that they were here and his luminous eyes were on her she quailed. It was Marinette's birthday, after all, not Ladybug's. He'd know if she were lying, though, and he wouldn't be able to keep the hurt from his eyes. She'd seen that too many times, and wouldn't inflict it on him again, not tonight. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, steeled herself. "…my birthday," she whispered. Admitting it was always a bit embarrassing.

Suddenly arms were tight around her and she was spinning through the air. Her eyes flew open as she let out a shriek; Chat was grinning, spinning them around on the rooftop, looking happier than if it were _his_ birthday and he'd been given the key to the city to boot. Giggling and blushing, she clutched at his shoulders until he eventually slowed. When her feet touched down his grip loosened, but Ladybug settled her arms around his neck (telling herself it was a precaution against dizziness and not believing herself for a second) and looked up at him.

"Happy birthday," he said in a low voice, wearing a smile so wide it must have hurt. "But usually it's the birthday girl who gets the presents from her greatest admirer, not the other away around. I wish I had something to give you." His eyes darted to her lips and she felt temptation rush through her hot and fast. _Maybe next year_ , she thought, and bit her lip against a giggle. Maybe, if her luck held.

Instead she laid her cheek against his chest, sweet warmth filling her when she felt his heart skip. He smelled like clean laundry and a hint of expensive cologne, and his arms slowly tightened around her again, and it felt like home. "This is good."


	4. Cinema

At first Marinette didn't notice the shrieks. There was a new horror film playing at the cinema, after all—she was no fan of that genre, so she was glad Nino hadn't insisted that they go see the slasher movie instead of the werewolf romantic comedy they'd all agreed on. (Alya would have insisted that a scary movie would give her the chance to cuddle up to Adrien, and while that did have its charms, Marinette spent enough time dealing with crazed criminals; she didn't want to watch them wreak havoc, even in a fictional world, and not be able to do anything about it.) But as she made her way from the restroom to their theater the yelling seemed to get louder, more insistent and more realistic. It reached a peak as the doors to their theater burst open and a panicked audience spilled out. Marinette ducked behind a garbage bin, searching for her friends in the crowd.

She didn't see them before the villain du jour appeared. He was the oldest akuma victim she'd seen yet: past middle age, he seemed to be wearing knee-length pants, a tweed vest, and a flat cap, like some director from the early days of film. Indeed, he carried a huge cone-like megaphone, and as she watched he raised it to his mouth and shouted, " _NO MOBILE PHONES IN THE CINEMA!_ " His scream sent giant popcorn kernels rocketing from the megaphone. Wherever they landed they left buttery slicks that people were slipping on in their haste, but that wasn't the worst of it. A kernel hit a screaming girl and in an instant she changed. Her cry cut off abruptly, all color leached from her, she seemed to flicker, and, most worryingly, she lost a dimension, leaving a figure that looked as thin and flimsy as old film stock. The director went on screaming about people ruining his film, and didn't they have the decency or the attention span to watch without distractions, and they should all just buy watches instead of lighting up the dark with their stupid, stupid phones.

Marinette took a quick look behind her, then snapped open her purse. "Let's go, Tikki," she said quietly, and they transformed. Ladybug rushed forward. Halfway to confronting the villain a familiar flash of blond sneaking across the lobby caught her eye, just before the director noticed him; she changed course and bounded in front of Adrien, landing in a crouch as her yo-yo spun into a shield that deflected a spray of popcorn.

"Ladybug!" He sounded so breathless that she almost gave in to the urge to take a peek at his face.

 _Do your job_ , she scolded herself. _Don't get distracted_. At least with the director's attention on her he wasn't transforming anyone else. She peered at him past the barrage of popcorn and the blur of the yo-yo's string, but there was nothing that stood out that could be hiding the akuma. She'd have to get closer. That meant getting Adrien out of harm's way first.

"You need to get out of here," she told him, her eyes darting around the lobby. There were few things that could protect him, though he could probably make it over the concession stand counter.

"I have to find Marinette first! Have you seen her?" he demanded. She tensed, desperate to convince herself that she didn't feel his breath against her spine. "She's wearing a black jacket, has dark hair and pigtails like…yours…"

Ladybug swallowed. "Must be a fan," she said, hoping her tone was as airy as she intended.

After a few long seconds of silence he pressed on, "She went to the bathroom before this started."

"If she's smart, that's where she stayed." The cardboard display advertising some ridiculous superhero film would have to do for cover; she directed his attention to it. "We're heading there. Stay behind me." His agreement was followed by a hand landing on her shoulder and electricity jolted through her.

They moved sideways, careful not to slip on the oily streaks the oversized-popcorn had left on the floor. Once behind the display she gave the yo-yo a rest, but kept a watchful eye on the director.

"If you can, get outside," she said over her shoulder. "There should be an emergency exit." Instead of running to safety, he paused; then she felt his hand slide from her shoulder down her arm and all the way to her hand, gentle but unhesitating. She fought not to shiver.

"What about you?" he asked. "Will you be okay?"

The most undignified noise Ladybug had ever made, a cross between a stifled snort and a strangled giggle, came out of her mouth then. "Me? I'm Ladybug. I've got luck on my side. And Chat Noir, when he arrives." Some of the bravado faded from her voice, and she heard herself admitting, "I'll be better if I know you're not in danger."

There were cool fingers on her chin and then lips pressed to her cheek. "Thank you," he said, his breath warm against her face, and there was something like longing in his tone. "Be safe." A rush of air at her back and the squeak of rubber told her he had sprinted away, and she took a deep breath before emerging from her cover.

"Cut!" she called. The director lowered his megaphone for a moment and she saw an old-fashioned pocket watch glinting from his vest pocket; that must have been where the akuma was. His face turned scarlet with rage and he raised the megaphone again, ready to shout, when Chat Noir landed atop it, knocking it from his hands. The megaphone skittered away across the lobby floor, and Chat tossed a grin over his shoulder at Ladybug.

"This one's a little too corny to take seriously," he quipped. Though she rolled her eyes, relief and something fonder flooded her at his arrival. He must have been nearby to get there so quickly.

"Mind checking the time?" she asked, nodding to the watch. The director's eyes widened and he dodged Chat's lunge, surprisingly spry for someone with such a paunch; even so, he couldn't watch where he was going and contend with the flurry of blows Chat Noir threw at him at the same time, and slipped in a puddle of butter, landing on his back with a squelch. Chat snatched up the watch, heedless of the director's overemotional cry, and tossed it back to Ladybug.

A few moments later they stood in a newly-cleansed lobby as all of the akuma's victims, including a very tired-looking older gentleman, wandered toward the exit. From the sound of it there were customers outside demanding refunds on the movies that had been interrupted by the attack. "Looks like that's a wrap," Ladybug said, to Chat's great delight.

"Fancy seeing a film with me, my lady?" he asked, beaming at her.

She chuckled. "Maybe some other time." She had to change back and find her friends before Alya got too worried—or suspicious. In a moment she'd be clamoring at the door, trying to get in to snap a picture of the heroes. Ladybug found that she wasn't overeager to leave, though, a reluctance she attributed to the brevity of the fight and the adrenaline still surging through her. She looked up at his profile, certain he was posing and unable to mind it much. "I'm glad you made it today," she confessed. "It was much easier with you here."

Chat blinked twice, and then slowly smiled. "It was my pleasure," he said, nothing but honesty in his tone.

It was too much to bear; she looked away and cleared her throat. "I'd better get going."

Before she could take two steps toward the bathroom his hand landed on her shoulder. It was her turn to blink as a finger gently turned her chin back toward him, and then there were lips warm against her cheek. Part of her wanted to curse him for kissing the same spot Adrien had, but more of her was astonished by the tingling that radiated from the place where his lips met her skin. It seemed she'd forgotten how to breathe—until he wound one of her pigtails around his finger and she gasped audibly, too shocked by the pleasure, his nearness, and the realization that none of it could be a coincidence to be embarrassed by the sound.

"Until next time, my lady," he breathed. "Be safe." He bounded away, leaving Ladybug rooted in place in the empty lobby, frozen and burning all at once.


	5. Puns

She sits with her head propped on one hand, waiting for class to begin. Even staring at Adrien isn't inducement enough to keep her eyes open; her lids droop as she listens to the chatter around her, hoping it doesn't lull her to sleep. Alya brings up last night's attack and she swallows a weary sigh. The smell of a too-hot curling iron and a faint sizzling linger even now. She vows to tip the stylist generously next time she needs a trim.

When Adrien confesses knowing nothing about the attack Nino asks if he spends all his free time under a rock. She's inclined to agree. At the same time, she thinks wistfully, the freedom of not having to know must be nice. Alya describes the situation and then Adrien says something that makes Marinette's chin slip from her hand.

She rights herself, screws her eyes closed tighter and interrupts. "Say that again."

She doesn't open her eyes during the pause that follows–in part because she doesn't need to, since she knows the quizzical expressions that her classmates are wearing, the mingled concern and amusement in Alya's smile, Nino's little squint, the honest curiosity peeping out from behind Adrien's shuttered eyes, but more because it's just not important at the moment. Their silence is filled with school sounds, the shuffling of papers and screech of dragging chairs, and she knows they're wondering if they heard right, and what could have gotten into Marinette this time. Eyes still squeezed shut she swings her head in his direction and repeats herself, in a slightly raised voice that allows no argument: "Adrien. Say that again."

He clears his throat before obeying. "I said, that sounds like a hairy situation," and though he's repeating himself she still hears the warmth of a barely-suppressed chuckle and a dash of pride at his own joke. She's heard that tone before, in times both literally and metaphorically dark; it's maddened her, made her wonder if he took anything seriously, kept her from screaming in frustration or crying out in pain. She knows the teasing lilt of the voice, its undercurrent of tenderness, the way it sounds when taunting an enemy and when comforting a lost child. She knows that voice. She knows him.

Her eyes snap open and meet his without flinching. There is something slowly dawning in them; it looks like wonder, like anticipation, like hope. "I'm sure Chat Noir and Ladybug were glad to get out of her hair," she says, low and deliberate, echoing Chat's parting shot to the victim. Adrien blinks, but even in waiting for a response her conviction doesn't waver. Though her heart is speeding, soaring, she's certain of this, of him.

When it appears a fraction of a second later his grin is feral. "I hope they made it out in good condition." She snorts, shakes her head a little, but doesn't look away.

The moment breaks when Mlle Bustier enters. The others make their way to their seats; as he turns she catches Adrien's wrist. "We need to talk later." She says it quietly, as if the attention of the whole class weren't already on them; in response he nods eagerly, his whole face aglow with delight, and it would really be too much to ask for her stomach not to flutter.

She hadn't thought it would be like this; she hadn't expected him. Now her blood is moving hot and fast and she's many things, but not afraid. She's never been afraid of her partner.


	6. five sentences

**T** o conclude, a pair of unconnected five-sentence ficlets.

* * *

 _She's moving up in the world: she's Chat's lady, then his princess, so it stands to reason that soon she'll be his queen._

He didn't hear the argument that led up to it but it was impossible to miss Chloe snapping, shrill and somehow simultaneously petulant and condescending, "Who died and made you queen?"

Chloe in a snit, Chloe demanding more than her due, Chloe sneering and snide—none of it was a surprise anymore and he turned, swallowing a sigh and preparing to make a hasty exit when Chloe's hideous behavior inspired yet another of their classmates to fall prey to Hawkmoth's influence.

What was a surprise was the would-be victim's response: there wasn't a trace of self-pity in her ringing laugh, not a hint of anger in the curve of her lips; but there was a flash of steel in Marinette's eyes, a determination and calm confidence he'd seen in her before. "Don't worry, Chloe," she promised, amusement in her voice, "I'll be a benevolent ruler," and as she descended the steps she did indeed look regal, her head held high and gait graceful, a satisfied expression on her face. He stood as she approached and whether attracted by the movement or force of habit her eyes lit on him, warm and kind, and though he lost sight of her face when he swept into a bow he heard her giggle at his murmured, "Your Majesty."

* * *

The trembling beneath her skin, noticeable for the first time since the fight had ended, was a storm of fading adrenaline and relief and stubbornly lingering fear, a thousand worries at once: that one day she wouldn't be quick enough, that he'd go too far in protecting her without regard for his own safety, that something would happen to her parents or her friends that even Lucky Charm couldn't undo, that Ladybug would fail spectacularly and Marinette be left to deal with the consequences. To her own ears the shaky breath she let out sounded loud and weak, as if she were holding back tears, as if she were so tired she could barely stand; it was a sound she would have concealed had anyone else been there to hear it. If there had been anyone there to see her other than a boy in scuffed black leather she would have stood straight and proud, smiled and affected nonchalance at the outcome of the fight—and if there had been anyone there to see that boy he would have been smirking, all insouciant charm and coy quips, instead of slouching at her side, content for once with quiet between them. Despite the familiar bustle of the city around them, the sounds and scents that spoke of Paris in the evening, she felt uneasy, her fatigue making her susceptible to so much doubt and anxiety that she could be washed away by it, could slip over the roof and be lost in the Seine on its way to the sea without much of a struggle; she had just enough strength left to hold on and a lifeline to seize. She closed her eyes and reached out, caught hold of her anchor, twined her fingers with his.


End file.
